


Scissors & Glue

by matanee



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, World War II, and christmas angst but, and then you will want to die for a different reason, it starts out being so fluffy everyone will want to die, shhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 23:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2044068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matanee/pseuds/matanee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two Christmases. Both times, Bucky is sick. First, it's his body. Second, it's his soul. Steve needs years to figure out how to heal him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scissors & Glue

**Author's Note:**

> The lyrics from the beginning are from the 'Next To Me' by Sleeping At Last, which is a gorgeous, gorgeous band I discovered yesterday while I wrote this fic. 
> 
> Also, I'm still not a native English speaker so forgive me for any mistakes. This fic is only half beta'd, which means all the typos are rightfully mine. Yay.
> 
> Enjoy!

_So lets cut down the red tape and gather up the pieces of our youth_  
 _Cause there's nothing in this world we can't fix with some scissors and glue._

  
It's the Christmas of 1937 and Bucky is sick.

It's a breaking-the-habit kind of experience, Steve having to walk from neighbour to neighbour, ask nicely if they have ripe vegetables and fruits, and maybe, just maybe, some chocolate. The difference is, when Bucky does the tour, he comes home with significantly less charity or pity donations than Steve. The reason is simple: Steve is not the one to bring girls home and make them scream so hard that the neighbours have to pound their fists on the door to tune it down. ("It was one time, one time, dammit! It's not like I have a brothel in here, Jesus Christ.") So when Steve goes on the tour, he comes home with fresh tomatoes, kohlrabi, some apples and oranges (he feels especially lucky to have those), and the one thing he's the most proud of: real, delicious milk chocolate from sweet old Mrs. Langley. She really dislikes Bucky but, in the knowledge that the chocolate is for Steve, she gives him a full tablet. And it's all Steve can do not to run home like an excited child after the last day of school.

It's not easy to fool Bucky, though. Steve does the 'shopping' and the cooking while Bucky is asleep, but, once Bucky opens one eye and actually manages to distinguish smells, Steve knows that Bucky knows. When Bucky sits up, Steve gives him the soup and one taste is enough to confirm Bucky's suspicion.

"Don't get me wrong because it's very, very delicious," Bucky starts like he's walking on eggshells. His voice is rough and unused, but he manages to speak so carefully that Steve already smiles. He knows what's coming up. "You really don't have to do this."

"I just made you a bowl of soup. It's not like I brought down the stars for you or anything," Steve shrugs innocently. _Which I would, any day,_ he adds but he never actually speaks the words. He would never dare.

"I know how much you hate hawking," Bucky raises one eyebrow and takes another spoonful of soup. The colour visibly starts to return to his cheeks and Steve feels his worry ease somewhat. "And you don't have to do that. I eat anything you put in front of me, you know that."

Steve swallows and, after some hesitation, he nods.

"Yes, I do hate hawking. I hate owing people stuff, especially kind people, because I feel like I abuse their kindness," Steve explains slowly and he fixes his eyes on the bowl in Bucky's hands. "But I would hate more to live if you died. So that settles it."

The spoon stops in Bucky's hands and Steve can feel his eyes on him, searching and waiting to be met by Steve's, but Steve is not ready to see the expression on Bucky's face yet. Instead, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and strolls to the kitchen, only to return with the chocolate being hidden behind his back.

"I've got something else for ya, and you won't believe it when I show you," Steve finally looks up, and the excited, almost childish sparkle in Bucky's eyes makes him grin with satisfaction.

"Oh, shit, Stevie, you know I love surprises," Bucky chews what's in his mouth and Steve knows he would start fidgeting if only he didn't have the bowl of soup in his lap. Which reminds Steve...

"You might wanna put that down for a moment," he nods towards the bowl and Bucky doesn't have to be told twice.

The bowl is already half empty and Steve wonders for a moment how could Bucky eat it all up so quickly without him noticing. Then, when Bucky is looking at him with the entire universe shining in his otherwise exhausted eyes, Steve starts to pull one hand out, but then, as if he changed his mind, he puts it back behind him.

"Come on Stevie," Bucky chuckles but Steve just shakes his head and smiles brightly.

"Which hand?"

"Are we seriously playing this?" Bucky raises both eyebrows now but Steve nods and Bucky has to sigh. "It's the left."

Steve takes his empty hand from behind his back and holds it up, waving at Bucky with his fingers.

"Then it's the right, obviously," Bucky bites his lower lip, but Steve, now sitting at the end of the bed again, carefully drops the chocolate on his calves underneath him and takes out another empty hand, grinning like a ten year old. Bucky's eyes grow wide for a moment before he starts laughing again, shaking his head like he can't believe he's fallen for this again.

"I gift you with all this precious air from the top of Qomolangma, James Barnes," Steve says on a deep voice and Bucky looks away, still laughing. "May it heal you."

When Steve reaches forward to cover Bucky's face with his hands, Bucky just playfully grabs his wrists and sits up so he could reach behind Steve, but Steve is faster and promptly sits on the chocolate so Bucky can't reach it.

"Do you really want me to tackle you down and tickle you to death so you would give it to me, Rogers?" Bucky looks scandalized but Steve is only laughing harder and harder, struggling to get out of Bucky's grip, yet, trying to stay this close to him for as long as he can. "I'm sick, you soulless little ne'er-do-well."

"I can see your ugly mug speaking but I can't hear anything, tra la la la," Steve sings but he can barely catch his breath before Bucky starts tickling him relentlessly. Steve resists as much as he can, screaming and yelling while Bucky is trying to trick him to move somewhere, but Steve is tougher than anyone would believe - especially against Bucky.

"Cry uncle, you can't keep it up for much longer," Bucky yells into Steve's face and every muscle in Steve screams for Bucky to stop, for Steve to give up, but he still finds it hard to back away, even from a game like this. He doesn't want the chocolate to completely melt, though, so he grabs Bucky's hands and wills them to stop, catching his breath like he's having an asthma attack again. Only it's a thousand times better and Steve doesn't wish he could die.

"Alright, alright you jerk, here, have it," he reaches under him and pulls out the chocolate. The moment Bucky lays his eyes on it and recognizes what it is, his eyes light up like rockets on the 4th of July and he seriously looks like a little kid, his touch becoming soft on Steve's wrist. "It's milk chocolate. The one you like. Merry Christmas, Buck."

"Holy shit, Stevie," Bucky all but whispers and Steve knows this is one of the proudest moments of his life. He even has his chin up a little bit, and there is literally nothing that could wipe the smile off his face in that moment. "Oh my God, I can't believe it."

The rustling of the wrapping paper is immediate and the fade smell of chocolate fills the air between them. The tablet is broken here and there, even a little bit melt, but Bucky apparently doesn't care. He has an entire bar in his mouth in the next second and the sound he makes reminds Steve of the sounds he heard on that one night when Bucky did bring up that girl - or the sounds he sometimes hears from the bathroom but, when Bucky comes out, Steve just pretends he was asleep or not even near the bathroom. Bucky's eyes are closed and he lets the chocolate melt on his tongue before he really tastes it and swallows.

"It's like heaven," Bucky groans and Steve slightly blushes, then, he looks down at the chocolate. _No, heaven would be tasting it on your lips,_ he thinks to himself, then, he takes one piece. It really is delicious, even though Steve prefers the dark, bitter one. Bucky buys him a bar whenever he has spare money, but quality milk chocolate is harder to come by, so this is why it's such a big deal now to have a full table right there in front of them.

"This is why you should put it away before you eat the whole thing," Steve suggests and proceeds to reach for the chocolate, to wrap it up and put it away, but Bucky already has it in his hands. He removes it from Steve's reach with an expression that is downright hurt and Steve has to resist from rolling his eyes.

"You can't just eat one bar from a tablet of chocolate, Steven Rogers," he states and Steve smiles gently, looking at Bucky expectantly. "It's sacrilege. You should be ashamed."

Steve waits for a few moments while Bucky takes one more bar before he suddenly reaches out and takes it, jumping out of the bed just before Bucky could grab his elbow.

"You are going to thank me tomorrow," Steve says seriously and wraps the chocolate, hiding it in the kitchen where he knows Bucky would never search.

When he returns to Bucky's bed with a glass of water, Bucky is still pouting but he thanks him for the water before gulping it down in one go. He burps a little afterwards and Steve almost immediately says 'pig' while he settles at the end of the bed again.

"You know, you are very lucky. No one could just walk away with my chocolate without me breaking their leg," Bucky looks at Steve knowingly, as if Steve should honestly be thankful, but Steve just chuckles.

"So scary, with a running nose and that bedhair, Barnes," Steve teases and Bucky reaches for his hair right away, frowning at the blond. Steve laughs but, what he really wants is to snap Bucky's hands away and tell him his hair is perfect. That he loves it just like this, right after waking up, because that is so Bucky, so real. Instead, he's just smiling, zooming out for a moment before he realizes that Bucky is talking to him.

"I still owned that tickle battle, though, didn't I?" Bucky asks and Steve knows he won't ever live down backing out of that fight. "And the chocolate was all broken and melt because you are a stubborn little punk."

Steve simply puts his tongue out at him as an answer and Bucky laughs triumphantly, muttering something about being mature while he sinks down in the bed a little, sighing deeply. His eyes are closed and Steve knows that he's going to fall asleep in moments, and a small part of him doesn't want that. He wants Bucky to talk to him, to be healthy, to celebrate Christmas like they have done together for the last 6 years, but he also wants Bucky to rest because he needs it.

He is climbing over Bucky's legs before he can think twice about it and Bucky's eyes immediately open.

"What'cha doing, punk? You are gonna get sick too," his eyes widen but Steve acts like he didn't even hear the protest. He lies on top of Bucky, his face hidden in the crook of Bucky's neck and hands holding onto Bucky's shoulders gently. He exhales deeply, ready to breathe in Bucky's smell. "Who's gonna look after your skinny ass when you get sick, hm? This winter was so fine so far, don't get a pneumonia because of me, hey! Are you listening?"

"I can see your ugly mug speaking but I can't hear anything," Steve says into Bucky's shirt but the words come out muffled. He smiles when he feels Bucky laughing, then, the brunet moves under him gently so Steve could be a bit more comfortable.

"You cannot see my ugly mug because you are hiding from me," Bucky replies but he wraps his arms around Steve and the blond eases into the embrace. He can hear Bucky's heartbeat against his chest and he raises with every breath that Bucky takes. It's insanely comforting and safe. He holds onto Bucky's shoulders a little tighter, too afraid to move his hand to Bucky's face, even if that's all he would want to do.

They stay silent for a while and their breathing, their heartbeats work in sync, slowing down to each other. Steve is not sure Bucky is even awake until the brunet finally breaks the silence.

"Are you worried that I'm going to die?"

It's a quiet, small question, but it turns Steve's stomach upside down. He instinctively presses himself closer to Bucky and the older one holds him close, even tighter than before. Steve wishes this embrace would never end, that he could stay there forever.

"Aren't you when I'm sick?" he asks, listening to Bucky's heartbeat intently. It slightly quickens and Steve breathes in.

"I'm a selfish bastard but I'm more afraid of what's going to happen to me if you're gone," Bucky says and Steve can't lie, the answer surprises him completely. "I mean, you gotta go to heaven and see your ma, your pa, you will be healthy and happy up there, I know that. About that I'm glad. But what's gonna happen to me, Stevie? I'm gonna be all alone."

"You have friends, and you have your girls," Steve offers but his voice is uncertain. He just wants to hug Bucky even tighter but he doubts that's even possible.

Bucky snorts and the hot breath he lets out crawls down on Steve's neck, covering him in goosebumps and quickening his heartbeat.

"Fuck 'em. They are not you." There is silence after that, because Steve can't say anything to that. Then, Bucky sighs. "I think I would just follow after you, probably. But what if I'm not going to heaven, Stevie?"

"Stop saying things like that," Steve snaps and he wants to frown at Bucky but he doesn't want to raise his head from the warm cocoon of his neck. "What if you die, huh? What's gonna happen to me? At least you have friends and girls, even if you talk about them like this, but who do I have besides you? Mrs. Langley. Do you think she's gonna patch me up after a bully beats the living daylights out of me? Do you think she's gonna have tickle fights with me or let me walk on her feet when the floor is cold and I don't feel like wearing socks? Do you think she's gonna set me up on dates with dames or take me to dance? Would she act like a complete doofus only to make me laugh?"

"Thinking of Mrs. Langley in these situations really makes me uncomfortable Steve," Bucky admits and Steve can't help but laugh at that. "I thought you didn't like the double dates."

"It's part of my life, Buck," Steve shrugs and he's suddenly very glad that he can hide his face. Maybe he is only going to talk to Bucky like this from now on, it's so much easier to say all the things he wants to say. Well, not all the things, but most of them. "You are part of my life. You are my other half. I couldn't function without my other half."

"I couldn't either," Bucky says defensively and Steve smiles a little, wishing he could see Bucky's face right now. "Let's just agree that neither of is going to die in the near future, huh? Is that good enough for you?"

Steve stays silent for a long minute and he's sure Bucky thinks he's fallen asleep already when he decides to answer at last.

"Don't ever die, Bucky," he murmurs, so quietly that he doubts Bucky even heard it. His heartbeat picks up, though, so that means he most certainly heard it. He hopes Bucky can't feel Steve's heartbeat, or he's going to call for the ambulance very soon. "Don't leave me alone, you hear me? Promise me."

Bucky is quiet for a long, long time before Steve feels his fingers, gently messing his hair and stroking the back of his head. He knows what he's asking is selfish and, most of all, impossible, but he knows that Bucky never breaks a promise.

He closes his eyes, his fingers digging into Bucky's shirt even tighter, and Bucky finally decides to speak.

"I won't leave you, pal. Not if I can help it."

"Promise me," Steve asks and he can feel the tension leaving his limbs, his heartbeat slowing down. He knows it's late in the afternoon so it's early to sleep but he doesn't care. It's the safest he felt in a very long time and he's not going to move anywhere.

He hears Bucky sighing before the brunet gently nods and presses his face against Steve's head.

"I promise."

It's the middle of the night when Steve wakes up next. He has no memory of falling asleep on Bucky, but he's not in his own bed which means he must've dozed off in Bucky's. Bucky's nowhere to be seen, though, and the sounds that come from the window are not at all promising. If anything, they're even a bit scary, and Steve sits up slowly to look around.

He looks out but all he sees is darkness, and someone is apparently throwing something at their window.

"Bucky?" he rubs his eyes, biting back a yawn as he climbs out of bed, stretching with arms reached towards the ceiling. Once he feels the cold floor under his feet, he shivers in his entire body, pulling the closest blanket around himself and turning down the bottom of his pants so he wouldn't have to look for socks in this dark. "Bucky, someone is at the window."

There is no answer and Steve wonders where the other is when there is another muffled thump at the window. Steve jumps a little, turning around his own axis before he starts toddling towards the window at last. He is still shaking under the blanket when he reaches his destination and, as he pulls the window up, the first thing he sees is the snow silently falling outside. He's always loved when the sky looked more beige than black at night, especially when it was snowing, and he feels the itch in his fingers to draw the sight when he hears a yell from under the window. It's a three storied house, which means it's not difficult to aim for the window, but you should really have an arm stronger than Steve's to actually do it. Looking down, however, Steve's every fear just flees him and he's staring with his jaw slightly hanging.

The yelling man is Bucky. Sick, feverish Bucky Barnes, out in the cold December night at Christmas, yelling at Steve from the snow.

"Close the window you punk! You are letting out the heat, I just wanted you to look out!" he scolds Steve but the blond can't even move an inch, his eyes wide with shock. Behind Bucky on the snow is 'Merry X'mas Stevie' and there is also a snowman standing there, although it's small and not exactly a masterpiece. Steve feels anger and the urge to cry wash through him in waves, and he can't help the smile that creeps on his face the longer he looks at the sight underneath him.

"Stop yelling, you will wake the neighbours," Steve swallows, forcing back the tears as much as he can, but he knows it's not going to work for much longer. He completely forgets that it's the middle of the night or that Bucky should be sleeping in his bed instead of getting even sicker out in the cold. He forgets about his own ice cold hands and feet, he forgets about everything. All he sees now is Bucky, and he can't stop, he just can't stop grinning.

He doesn't even want to, really.

"Fuck the neighbours, it's Christmas!" Bucky yells again with arms wide open and Steve laughs, a tear escaping his eye. He swiftly wipes it with a trembling hand and he sniffs, watching the happy expression on Bucky's face. It's the same as Steve made when he gave Bucky the chocolate, only much redder from the cold. "What d'ya think?"

Steve examines the snowman once more and he can't help the chuckle that comes up his throat. When Steve was allowed to actually stay and play in the snow for longer than ten minutes, it was always him building the snowmen while Bucky usually kept disturbing him with snowballs and lay down in the snow to make angels. (He tried to build an igloo once but it collapsed with them inside, causing Steve a double pneumonia for the rest of winter.) Seeing this snowman now, Steve finally understands why he was the one to build them back when they were kids.

Bucky's snowman barely stands on his own but he actually has eyes and a nose, so that's an improvement. He doesn't have a proper mouth, nor buttons or arms for that matter, but he is looking straight at Steve with that lame expression on his face and Steve feels so happy and dumb that he starts crying again.

"Is it that ugly?" Bucky's smile falls a little. Steve immediately shakes his head and wipes his tears, with the corner of the blanket that's wrapped around him.

"It's really handsome, Buck."

"Then what's with the tears?"

Steve chuckles because Bucky honestly doesn't get it, then, he just sighs and wills the tears back.

"I'm crying because you are going to get even sicker if you stay out there in the snow without being dressed up properly," Steve yells down, not caring about the neighbours by this time either. Then, he gives Bucky another watery smile and his fingers wrap around the window even more tightly. "And I'm crying because I'm happy, you jerk."

Bucky's grin immediately returns at that but it's much softer on the edges and his eyes are full of kindness. Steve wishes he could kiss that stupid smile off his face right there, down in the snow, but he knows it's too much to ask for a Christmas miracle. He drinks in the sight of his best friend instead, trying to remember this moment so he could recall it exactly the way it happened when he's old.

"You are a sap, Rogers," Bucky says, not yelling this time, but Steve can hear it perfectly and he chuckles lightly. He nods.

"And you are an idiot. Get up here before you get sicker," Steve orders and Bucky straightens, saluting.

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Steve pulls down the window with a grin and walks back to Bucky's bed, sitting under a pile of blankets when Bucky gets back. Steve only sees now how much he's shaking and his smile drops, his entire face frowning with worry.

"What were you thinking, Bucky?" Steve lifts the blanket after Bucky took off his wet clothes, only staying in his undershorts and a shirt. He slips into bed next to Steve and immediately drags him closer, the same smile lingering on his face for minutes now. "Gimme your hands you punk."

Bucky doesn't speak, he just gives Steve his hands and Steve wraps them in his own, trying to warm them as much as he can. Even though he is also cold, Bucky is closer to being frozen, and he's shaking against Steve violently, his eyes falling shut for long moments before he looks at the blond again.

"You just promised me you wouldn't leave me and now you have a death wish," Steve mutters under his breath and he concentrates on Bucky's hands with a frown on his face. "Sometimes I wonder if you realize what you're doing or you just do things out of impulse."

"It was worth it," Bucky's teeth chatter and Steve looks up at his face. Bucky's eyes are shining with the fever again, his cheeks are scarlet and his lips are dry, but there is a smile on them, a smile that makes Steve's heart skip a beat and his stomach drop with a heavy thud. "I wanted to make you happy... And I did."

Steve could always keep a leash on his feelings towards Bucky, he could always stop himself from doing whatever stupid thing he was thinking of doing. Now, though, it requires all his strength and willpower to stop himself from leaning forward and kissing Bucky, wrapping his arms around him and holding him through his fever until it was gone and the sun came up. He has to hold Bucky's hands tighter in order to stay himself, to prevent himself from doing the stupidest thing, from risking everything that was important to him. Luckily, it works, and his last piece of common sense kicks in, allowing him to do only one thing that wouldn't harm either of them.

He gently pulls Bucky closer by the back of his neck until Bucky's head rests on Steve's chest. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve, holding onto him with all his strength. Steve lets him, listening to the rapid breaths Bucky takes while he's battling his fever, thinking of the snowman who's still standing outside their window.

Then, Steve smiles, pressing a kiss on the top of Bucky's head. They both fall asleep soon after that.

  
*

  
It's the Christmas of 1943, and Bucky spends it alone.

Nothing is the same as 6 years before - nothing, except the taste of whiskey in his mouth. He used to drink less back then, but, then again, things were much better back then too. They had to count every penny, they had to lean on the volatile kindness of their neighbours and Bucky had to hold Steve while he shivered into unconsciousness, his heart nearly breaking his ribs. He had chest pains, he held onto Bucky's arm with such strength that his nails drew blood from the skin, but at least he held onto Bucky. And Bucky was there, and he still would be there, if he was needed.

He isn't. So it is the bottle then.

He has no idea when things went off the track exactly. It wasn't immediately after Steve's rescue mission, but Bucky would guess it was around then. It was around then that Peggy held Steve's gaze for longer than Bucky could remember ever holding it, and it was also then that Steve smiled so brightly, so brightly it hurt the eyes - and it wasn't for him. The smile wasn't for him, and neither was that longing, sea coloured gaze. Yes, that's when it must've started.

And _hell_ , did it hurt. Bucky said nothing, he stayed on the sidelines that were so unknown for him back then, so unusual. He felt like he was skinny and sickly all of a sudden, like he was the third wheel, the one to hold the candle. He was the alien and Steve was everything. No, it wasn't jealousy, it was simple, pure pain. Steve used to be his and now... He was everyone's.

Bucky came to fight a war. He didn't sign up for more than one.

People kept telling him back then how strong he was, how grown up, how responsible. Bucky buried his mother, endured the absence of his father, put his only sister on a train that could've gone to hell all he knew. "They don't know shit about strength," he used to tell Steve, hands and face buried in the sheets at night. It was summer and hot, but Steve wasn't planning on sleeping in his own bed. "Fucking bastards."

Steve would've scolded him for swearing. On that night, he didn't. He put his small hand on Bucky's face, his tiny palm that would've fit in his current hand three times, and Bucky closed his eyes, inhaling. He's never believed that he was strong because all those people kept telling him.

He believed it because Steve put that hand on his face, looked at him with those eyes, and suddenly, he felt strong. It doesn't take strength to let people go or to cut people out of your life to give them a chance. It takes strength to keep them, to bind them to yourself, to never let any harm come to them if you can help it. And Bucky felt strong, the strongest man on Earth, all of this because he could protect that one person he had left.

He feels miserable now. Where did all that strength go? Up with the gunpowder, dissolving in the air the moment he set foot on that boat, being shipped to England. There was no strength without Steve. And having no Steve...

Well. That's what left him with the bottle. Drinking doesn't require strength or courage of selflessness. Thank God.

He bought Steve a gift, a few weeks earlier when he could go to town and spend some time alone in a shop, but he has no idea how to give it to him. Maybe leave it on his bed with a note? It is a brand new sketchbook, beautiful and only waiting for Steve to fill it. It rests on the bed next to Bucky now, with an already empty bottle of alcohol.

Another thing, that is. If the universe hasn't been mean enough so far, he has trouble getting drunk. And fuck, that's the worst punishment he could ever get.

"Bucky."

He never hears the blond enter the room and he slightly jumps. He hides his bewilderment well, though, and he wipes his mouth. His fingers are whitening around the neck of the bottle as he looks back over his shoulder. Steve's standing alone at the doorway, with snow in his hair and on his shoulders, and Bucky wants to laugh.

1937 invades his head again, the memories floating in and out of his mind, and Steve closes the door behind him. He is so beautiful, Bucky has to swallow back words that might cause him trouble if they stumbled out.

"Could we talk?" Steve sounds unsure and Bucky finds himself smiling. It's almost as unsure as Steve's words and he turns back, raising the bottle to his lips and taking a sip.

He clears his throat as the whiskey burns its way down the little red lane.

"Sure. We can always talk."

"You mean, I can talk and you can pretend to listen while you are completely elsewhere?"

This is new, the slightly accusing tone in Steve's voice. Bucky raises his eyebrows slightly, putting the bottle down on the ground before he pulls one knee up on the bed and turns to see Steve. Steve is in his uniforms, he looks ever so dashing, and the red on his cheeks tell a thousand words. There are only so many ways Steve can blush and, supersoldier serum or not, Bucky can recognize all of them.

Steve is angry and frustrated. Actually, a bit more frustrated than angry. And Bucky is still numb, like something huge is sitting on his chest.

"What do you want, Steve?"

There is a snort then, an incredulous, high pitched snort. Bucky doesn't move.

"That's what I wanna talk about, Bucky. Because whenever I speak to you, you answer on this tone, like you are tired of me, like you are already bored, even before I could say what I wanted."

"That's not true," Bucky hears himself saying, almost automatically. He knows it's a lie but it's reflex and he can't help it.

"Like damn it is," Steve opens his eyes wide, leaning forward a bit to make more of an impact with his words. Bucky bites on his tongue - hard. "It's Christmas, Bucky. We always spent Christmas together. Whatever... rift is between us now, I want you back on this side, Bucky. We will figure something out, but you need to talk to me, pal. I _need_ you to talk to me."

 _Christmas, huh,_ Bucky thinks to himself, fixing his gaze on the bedsheets. There is complete silence, save for their breaths, and Bucky feels a smile creeping on his face. It's foreign, strange, something he has never felt before, and it's bubbling inside him now. He wonders how will it come to the surface.

"The thing is... We didn't only spend Christmases together, Steve," he shakes his head a little. His voice is quiet and rough, and Steve isn't interrupting. Bucky actually has no idea of the face Steve must make, because he isn't looking. "We spent every single day together, every hour, every minute. Christmas was different, but we never had two days of the same kind anyway. Every day was new and... Why aren't you talking about that?"

There is silence and Bucky feels this laugh bubbling up his throat now, this laugh that is full of hot tears that prickle his eyes, full of anger and disappointment. He is shaking with their ferocity.

"Why aren't you talking about those days? The boring days when we thought we would be poor forever, stuck in that hellhole? The days when you were dying in my arms and I was miserable, so terrified that it almost crippled me? The days when you were sulking that you would never have a dame who loved you?" The hot tears are all over his face now and he looks up, his hands shaking in his lap. Steve stares, his face pale and full of emotions, and Bucky chuckles again. It's forced and dangerous. Maybe he can get drunk after all. "Why won't you talk about _these_ , Stevie?"

Steve swallows visibly hard then, jerking himself out of his stupor.

"Because I never knew they were important to you."

Bucky stands slowly from the bed and he hates how weak his knees are but he doesn't care. He doesn't give in. Not to his traitor body, not to his tears, not to his heart that is nearly failing him by now, and most of all, not to his common sense.

"So you think you were the only one who remembered you standing on my toes without your socks on? Or you think it's only you remembering the tickle fights and the double dates and patching you up after you were beaten to a pulp? I remember it all, Steve!" Bucky only realizes now that he's shouting but he can't stop. And really, why would he? They are speaking, aren't they? And isn't that what Steve wanted? "It was important to me and then the war took it away! You came here, you became Captain America and you just... expect me to be okay with it? I'm never getting these back, Steve! What am I going to do with just memories when you are drifting away from me?"

Then, the rest is out of his mouth just as quickly, before he could think about it.

"I've been in love with you since the moment you stopped breathing in the winter of 1935, the first winter we spent together and I realized I could lose you. Now, the entire world is in love with you," he breathes and he wipes his face with his sleeve. The smell of whiskey is on his hands and, even though it sobers his mind, it doesn't chase the fog from his head. He is still shaking and he can't help it. "So if I don't want to talk, it's not because you bore me. It's because you are constantly moving, moving away from me towards being a superhero, towards that... English girl of yours, while I'm standing in the same place, where I've been standing since the minute I was born."

Bucky runs out of words like he's an old car, now standing on the side of the road with no one to drive it. His hand is itching for the curve of the bottle, to feel the cold glass against his palm and the burning in his mouth, but he can't move and, for minutes now, he can't take his eyes off Steve. Beautiful, flawless Steve Rogers, standing there with jaw clenched and eyes shining with something that looks like anger and something else.

Bucky wants to run away. Run and run, until his legs finally give out underneath him. He's pretty sure he wouldn't make it, not even to the door.

"You have never been selfish, Bucky. But now, you sounded like the worst bastard in the world."

The words are cold and hard, and Bucky is not exactly surprised. Steve has every right to be angry, and Bucky wishes he could stop being angry with himself for even a second, but he's been angry since he was back from Zola's experiment and he started losing sleep, zooming out, missing out on everything around him. He's been angry because he was losing memories, his hands were shaking more than before, he killed more easily and he couldn't drink himself blind and deaf. He's been so angry that it doesn't even feel wrong when Steve frowns, nor does it feel intimidating when he starts walking closer.

"It never occured to you, did it?" he asks, narrowing his eyes with disbelief. Bucky stands there like a big pile of misery, smiling numbly down at the floor with hands on his hips.

"Many things occur to me, Rogers, so you have to be more specific."

Jesus, even his wit is dry and soulless now. He wonders if it's the result of experiments he never told Steve about, or it's the loneliness finally driving him mad. He doesn't know which would be better.

"That I am in love with you too."

Bucky feels his head snap up, his mind going blank for a second. Steve is standing much closer to him now, his face is a mask of incredulity and that something that's been in his eyes all along. Bucky recognizes it now.

It's love. And it's been there for so long now that it forces the air out of Bucky's lungs, like he's been kicked in the stomach.

"You were so busy looking after me, trying to make everything perfect for me that you never looked at me for long enough to see. You never noticed," Steve shakes his head with a snort. "Hell, you are so busy feeling shit right now that you think I'm leaving you when, in fact, you are pushing me away all the time!"

"That's not-" Bucky starts instinctively but he stops himself mid-sentence and shuts his mouth loudly. There is deafening silence after that, right until Steve gives in with a huge sigh and closes the distance between them. He is towering over Bucky now, almost a head taller than the brunet, and Bucky looks up at him. Every cell in his body wants to sink into the floor, and then Steve smiles. It's soft on the edges, the anger is gone, and damn.

He's _so_ beautiful Bucky feels like crying again.

"Did you know I used to put my hands under cold water so I would have an excuse to sleep in your bed? Or that whenever you held me down after tackling me to the ground, I would linger there just a moment longer so I could feel you all over me?" Steve is smiling like these are the most ordinary things to say and Bucky feels his stomach twirling. Steve keeps talking about being small and insignificant, about a huge heart being full of love for Bucky, and Bucky can barely hear a word because it's Steve's face. Steve's face holds all the important things, the only things that matter, and Bucky's fingers are tingling for something else entirely than a whiskey bottle.

He swallows hard and blinks before he cuts Steve off.

"I can see your ugly mug speaking but I can't hear anything," he breathes and waits.

It's only so long that Bucky can wait when Steve finally smiles, brightly, a chuckle making its way up his throat. It's the last thing Bucky sees and hears before he lunges forward.

When he presses his lips against Steve's, when he can finally bury his fingers in Steve's hair and pull him as close as he wants, he remembers 1937 again. He remembers the snow, the pain, the snowman and Steve in the window, crying. He remembers the way they slept next to each other that night, unbelievably close, fingers laced and foreheads pressed against each other. He remembers how he saw a fever dream where he was Steve's and Steve was his. He tastes the memories on those lips and drinks them in, pressing himself up against Steve with all he's got. Bucky's fingers are digging into Steve's flesh, possessive and needy.

"Bucky," the word falls from Steve's lips between two kisses and Bucky won't even leave him time to speak. He's kissing those pink, perfect lips again, taking them between his teeth, exploring them with his tongue and Steve moans into his mouth, demanding more, more, more. It's a deep kiss, so full of love that Bucky feels like he's at the bottom of the ocean and all the water is trying to squash him.

It feels like betrayal when his body runs out of oxygen and they have to part, but they don't pull away. Bucky learnt to appreciate the exchange of breath a long time ago, it being the closest thing to kissing for so many years, and now he dwells in it, his lips still tingling from the blond's touch. It feels like a thousand years until he can open his eyes, only to see Steve's still being closed.

Bucky has never smiled like this before. He cupped Steve's face a countless times in his life, but it feels different. The warmth of the flesh underneath his palm is different and he sighs, touching the tip of his nose to Steve's.

"Merry Christmas, punk."

And with Steve's smile, the universe tilts back to its rightful place.


End file.
